


In My Sky

by ClutchHedonist



Series: Modern 24/7 BDSM AU [4]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: 24/7 au, BDSM, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Feels, Finger Sucking, Implied/Referenced Gore, M/M, M/S, Master/Slave, Mild Gore, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, Sexting, So Much Dirty Talk, Texting, somebody caused all this finger sucking you know exactly who you are, there are feels, tina is a goddamned gem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 04:36:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9219293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClutchHedonist/pseuds/ClutchHedonist
Summary: But when it’s ugly, really ugly, it sneaks into the cracks of his consciousness, sharp migraines and tense, breathless sleep. It’s never pictures – Graves finds that he rarely dreams in outright scenes. It’s all tight sensations, strangled and voiceless. It jerks him, gasping, out of sleep until he can catch his breath.It’s ugly.





	

**Author's Note:**

> We finally get to hear a little more from Graves this time around.
> 
> As always, I can be found on lurking around on [tumblr](http://clutchhedonist.tumblr.com/), where I am always taking prompts and REALLY REALLY want to talk this heinous ship with basically all y'all sinners <3

_I have finished my breakfast and pressed your suit for tomorrow, Sir._

Graves steals a glance at his phone as Goldstein trots along at his side, briefing him on the report that has dragged both of them into the office at five thirty in the morning.

_Good boy._ He taps back, _How are you feeling?_

“-two of them down there. One’ll need the dental records matched for ID.” Goldstein is telling him as she pushes a folder into his hand.

He takes a glance down into it, huffs faintly when he thumbs through to the photos of the scene, “Who had to process that?”

“Williams and Gutierrez.”

“Tell them I owe them a drink.”

His phone vibrates in his pocket, _I am well, Sir. I am thinking of you._

_Oh?_

_Please, Sir. Please?_

He can still imagine warmth on his knuckles from the fitful, eager kisses he’d allowed the boy to lavish on them from beneath the table as Graves sipped at his coffee that morning.  When the call had come in, there hadn’t been time to bring him off before he’d had to leave. He pictures the boy in their apartment, pink cheeked and fretful, panting quietly through parted lips with eyes heavy lidded. That Credence has made it this far through his daily routine and managed to report promptly to Graves merits reward.

_You may return to bed,_ He sends back.

_Thank you, Sir,_ is followed swiftly by, _I have done so, Sir._

“Mister Graves?”

She’s stopped beside him when he looks up. He watches her evenly, and Tina crosses her arms and sighs.

“I said ‘is seven or seven thirty better for a debrief?’” She tells him.

He knows the rise and fall of Credence’s chest by heart, now, can see him waiting for further instructions, short-winded and hungry, “Let them get something to eat when they get back. Seven thirty.”

“Seven thirty it is.”

_You will spread your legs._ He types back, then glances over his shoulder, “And get yourself some coffee.”

“Yes, sir.”

_Yes, Sir. They are spread, Sir._

A faint smirk pricks at the corner of his mouth, _Describe._

“Awfully cheerful this morning.” Tina remarks, lifting one eyebrow.

The phone vibrates several times in quick succession.

_It hurts, Sir._

_Dripping._

_Please, I need it so badly, Sir._

_Please._

“Keeping busy.” She adds.

“Coffee, Goldstein.” _You may stroke thrice with your left hand._

Tina rolls her eyes, faux-salutes, but turns on one heel to begin down the hall nonetheless.

_please Sir please it hurts so badly_

Graves turns the corner towards his office, _Are you shaking, Credence?_

_yes Sir so hard_

_Diligence, my boy._ He sinks down into his chair, tosses the folder onto the desk.

_I am sorry, Sir. Yes, Sir, I am shaking very much._

A soft chuckle under his breath, _You have my permission to proceed._

_Thank you, Sir. Thank you, thank you._

* * *

 

There are plenty of people who’ve seen more than he has. Guys who’ve been in the business twenty-five, thirty years. Harder people, more unfazed. In fifteen years on the team, he’s seen his share of it.

But when it’s ugly, really ugly, it sneaks into the cracks of his consciousness, sharp migraines and tense, breathless sleep. It’s never pictures – Graves finds that he rarely dreams in outright scenes. It’s all tight sensations, strangled and voiceless. It jerks him, gasping, out of sleep until he can catch his breath.

It’s ugly.

It’s the smell that does it, more than anything else. It’s been three days since they came across the second scene, and he still can’t seem to force it out of his nostrils. Goldstein had gagged twice, and he’s fairly certain that she’d swallowed down bile on the second shot.

When he wakes, chest heaving, the slender arms around his chest startle. Credence jolts beside him, and Graves winces and sets his hand quickly at the nape of his neck.

“Shhh, shhh.” He exhales, “It’s all right, it’s nothing.”

“…Sir?”

He feels the boy’s eyes searching for his in the dark. Credence splays one long hand against his chest, and Graves nearly stops breathing, a meagre attempt to halt the hammering of his pulse there. Credence’s brow furrows.

“Go back to sleep.” He lets his fingers slide up into Credence’s hair to massage at his scalp.

Credence is motionless for a few moments, and then he shimmies the blankets up over his shoulders. Beneath them, he slinks up over Graves, rests his slender frame over the man’s broad chest. The sleight weight of him is enough to help slow Graves’s breathing. He buries his nose in the boy’s hair and inhales. Credence’s lashes flutter against his collarbone.

“Good night, Sir.” Credence murmurs, and Graves feels him press a small kiss into his skin.

The boy is tracing idle circles over his sternum with his thumb. Graves purses his lips and swallows.

“…Good night, Credence.”

 

* * *

 

 

He catches sight of him, long limbed and angular, over his shoulder in the mirror as he’s brushing his teeth. Credence is just climbing into the shower, eyes still narrow with sleep, and the flash of one jutting hip bone has Graves imagining pushing him up against the tiled wall, parting his thighs around his waist and having him until they’re both too spent to hold one another up. He spits into the sink, wipes his mouth with the back of one hand and presses in behind him.

Credence lets out a soft sigh as the spray hits him, and Graves allows himself to run his palms along the length of the boy’s waist. Credence breathes a quiet, “Sir” and lets his head fall back onto Graves’s shoulder. Graves runs his fingers back through the boy’s tangle of dark hair. In the five months that they’ve been living together, without Mary Lou to demand otherwise, Credence has let it grow out a few inches, surprising them both when the ends had begun to twist into loose curls. Now, Graves can wind a hand into it without difficulty, and when he gives it a gentle tug, Credence lets out an appreciative hum.

“What time is it?” Graves murmurs just behind his ear.

“Nnh…a little after seven, I think, Sir.”

Graves curses quietly.

It takes every iota of discipline he can muster to draw back from the boy and push through his morning routine, and even then, Credence still hands him his breakfast at the door instead of at the table.

“Have a good day, Sir.” His eyes are on the older man, uncertain.

Graves cups his cheek with one hand, pushes his lips to his temple, “You, too.”

“I-”

Drawing back to glance at him, Graves arches an eyebrow, “Hm?”

Credence blushes, “N-…nothing. I’m sorry, Sir.”

“What is it?” Graves questions.

The boy’s eyes lift to meet his for a sliver of a moment, “J-Just take care, Sir, please.”

 

* * *

 

 

It catches up to him as he’s shouldering his way past a newsstand just outside the subway station. Her face is splashed over the cover of _In Touch,_ glancing tight-lipped over her shoulder, flanked on either side by her daughters. Graves’s phone is already in his hand halfway through the headline, “ _Exclusive: Barebone Family Hasn’t Been Seen With-”_

_Saw the news,_ He thumbs in, _Your status?_

The reply flashes up after a few moments, _I don’t think that anyone has my number yet, Sir._ _No one has called._

Graves frowns. _Status, Credence,_ he sends once more.

Credence is typing, pausing, erasing, typing again, _I am fine, Sir._

_Do you want me to come home?_

The response is immediate this time, _No, thank you, Sir. I don’t want you to have to do that._

Sighing, Graves crosses the street, card keys into his office building. Goldstein is already waiting for him in the lobby.

She falls into step beside him, “We got another one. They think they might have some DNA on the scene, but it’s gonna’ be in the lab until at least tomorrow afternoon.”

“Good morning, Tina.” He grunts.

“...Sorry, sir, g’morning, I just-”

He ignores her apology, glancing back to his phone, “They process the whole scene yet?”

“Still out there. Guy called it in half an hour ago. Tried to call you. Guess you were underground.”

“Mm.” He rereads his messages. _You are to keep me informed of your situation hourly._ He replies, and then, _If anything changes, you are to call me immediately._

_Yes, Sir._

“You okay, Mister Graves?” She’s watching him, lips pursed, dark eyes studious, analytical.

“Save it for the perp.” He grumbles. 

She rolls her eyes, “You got it, sir.”

 

* * *

 

 

True to his word, Credence reports in to him every hour on the hour. In return, Graves keeps him busy around the house. By the time he’s helping the boy up from his place beside the door that evening, taking him into his arms, Credence has pulled together enough to prepare dinner for the both of them.

“You didn’t have to.” Graves tells him, smoothing a palm down along the nape of his neck to guide him to the table.

“Y-You didn’t eat much last night.” Credence replies as he’s taking his seat, “I didn’t want you to have to eat the leftovers.”

“Such a sweet boy.”

Graves feels the muscles in the boy’s shoulders unwind faintly. He presses a kiss into the crown of his hair, then sinks into his own chair. Credence ducks his head, and Graves waits wordlessly as he murmurs grace over their food. When he shifts once more to pick up his silverware, his gaze turns to Graves.

“How was your day, Sir?”

Graves is relatively sure that there will never be a time that he tells Credence about the smell. The stains. The chunks of bloodied hair.

“Long day. How are you feeling?”

He feels Credence’s slim fingers on the back of his hand, fumbling to turn it over and lace them between his own, “Please, Sir.”

Graves cocks his head faintly, “…Please?”

“I want-” Credence falters, and the color rises in his cheeks.

“What, my boy?”

Credence shakes his head quickly, “I-It’s-…it’s all right. I-…It was fine. Today.” His cheeks darken further when Graves arches an eyebrow, “Really.”

“Credence, if you-”

“Will you tell me what’s going on at work, Sir?” Credence interrupts, gaze on their linked hands.

Graves blinks, “At work?”

“I want to know more about what you do.”

Rubbing his thumb into the boy’s palm, Graves offers a minute smile, “You know that I can’t tell you that.”

“Not the details.” Credence replies, eyes flicking up to him, “Just-…how it is. How it’s going.”

Graves leans back in his seat with a soft sigh. Credence bites his lip, looks back to his plate. For a few moments, Graves chews on the inside of his cheek.

“It’s…it’s long, sometimes. Not good to look at.”

“Do you have friends there, Sir?” Credence continues, and his eyes are on Graves once more, this time in earnest, “Good ones?”

“I-…what?” Graves barks a short laugh, “Credence, what is this about?”

“Do you?”

Graves regards him, then gives a noncommittal shrug, “A few.”

“C-Can I meet them, Sir?” The boy’s shoulders pinch in close, “I-I mean-…if that’s allowed.” He’s picking at the skin around one nail, lips tight.

They have a few mutual friends, entirely lifestylers, who have been to the apartment now and again. Until this point, they’ve both been satisfied with that. Graves tries to imagine explaining their arrangement to his staff and feels his stomach sour. But Credence is watching him again, and Graves knows in his gut that the boy could ask him for the sun and Graves would burn himself to ash pulling it down for him.

“…All right.” He exhales.

He’ll bring her coffee in the morning. At least that’s a start. 

 

* * *

 

 

 When they arrive at the café – a hole in the wall bookstore that serves coffee and sandwiches that Credence had picked from some sort of search engine -  Tina is already waiting for them just outside the door. The collar of her coat is drawn up around her throat, and wrapped in its dark wool, she nearly blends into the lamppost she’s leaned up again. It hasn’t snowed yet, but the grey-white sky has been threatening to since the middle of the week.

“Mister Graves.” She greets him with a small nod.

He returns the gesture, “Goldstein.”

“We’re not at work, y’know, you can call me Tina.” She tells him with one eyebrow arched.

“Tina.” He grunts.

She watches him for a few moments, then chuckles and turns to Credence, “And you a-” She begins, then pauses, “Oh. You’re the Barebone boy, huh? Credence, right?”

He can sense Credence stiffen beside him. The boy’s cheeks redden, and he gives a mute nod.

She extends a hand, “Tina Goldstein. Nice to make your acquaintance.”

“Y-You, too.” Credence takes her hand, shakes it briefly.

“Well…y’coming inside?” She offers a half-smile.

“Mm.” Graves pulls the door back to let them in, then follows behind.

Tina’s eyes flick over a few of the others browsing the shelves, then she nods to herself and makes for one of the center aisles. Sure enough, the cramped café portion of the shop reveals itself between carts stacked with books to be re-shelved. Graves takes Credence’s coat, hangs it and his own on one of the hooks on the tall divider that separates their booth from the one behind it. Tina shrugs out of her own and does the same. She glances at them from across the table as they sit.

“…Oh geeze, I was wondering if you had something to tell me.” She remarks.

Graves pinches the bridge of his nose, “Tina.”

“What? You never go out with anybody.” She protests, “And come on. It’s not like I didn’t-…look, if I didn’t know already, I should be out of a job.”

“ _Tina._ ”

“What do you do?” Credence’s voice is soft, and both of them uncoil to look back to him.

Tina gives a shrug, “Profiles, mostly.” She huffs a sigh, “Been real ugly lately, though. Ugh.”

Graves can feel Credence’s eyes on him. He busies himself glancing over the single-page menu, “Work at work, Goldstein.” He mutters.

“Sorry, sir.”

Beneath the table, Credence’s fingertips are just barely slipping up over Graves’s pinkie. His hand is still chilly; Graves wraps it in his own.

Tina navigates them through the basics – weather, news, the latest book she’s reading. Graves finds himself quietly grateful, even more so when she weaves through initial inquiries with Credence without mentioning family.

“…It’s been a while, huh?” She finally asks.

Credence blushes faintly, although the corner of his mouth pricks up. Tina shoots a hint of a grin towards Graves, and then she’s half-nodding.

“Good.”

  

* * *

 

 

Credence’s cheeks are ruddy when they make it back to the apartment. Graves is halfway through taking his scarf off when the boy is pressing his face into the crook of his neck. His fingers curl into Graves’s lapels as the older man sets a hand in the small of his back.

“What is it?” He asks quietly.

“Thank you, Sir.”

“For what?”

Credence glances up at him, presses a small kiss wordlessly into the corner of his mouth. Then, he’s slipping the scarf from Graves’s hands to hang it up, takes his coat next and smooths the wrinkles out of it before he places it on the hook next to his own. Graves lets his fingertips skim the boy’s sides, his hips, the gentle curves of his thighs. Credence presses back into his touch.

Graves lets a palm come to rest on the back of one thigh, draws the boy close enough to push his mouth back up against his own. Against his chest, he can feel Credence’s breath quicken.

Halfway through stumbling back towards the bedroom, Graves abandons the idea and simply pushes the boy backwards onto the couch. Credence gives a breathless laugh, then gasps when Graves sinks his teeth into the spot just beneath his ear.

“Nnh, Sir…”  He exhales, and his long fingers come to rest at the nape of the older man’s neck.

One hand spread wide, Graves rucks up Credence’s shirt, traces of a line of sharp nips along the underside of his ribs. The way that Credence jerks up into each brush of his lips has Graves pushing his thumbs into the curves of his hipbones, in turn pressing him back down and yanking him arched as he works his way up to the boy’s collarbones. There, he darkens a mark into the smooth, pale skin at the base of Credence’s neck, lets out a soft breath at the sound of Credence’s pleased whimpers.

When the boy is quivering like this, Graves knows that it doesn’t take much. He sets one palm on the inside of Credence’s thigh, just below the crux of it, and Credence is panting, squirming.

“P-Please let me make you feel good, Sir.” He groans.

Graves tangles one hand in his dark hair, then brushes the pad of his thumb over the boy’s lower lip. Credence takes the digit into his mouth eagerly, works his tongue up along the underside of it, sucks until his cheeks hollow. Graves clamps his jaw down on a moan as the boy’s lips redden. Beneath him, Credence leans up, swallows, and Graves feels his tight throat flutter around him, deep enough in him to feel where the muscle begins to grow smooth and lean.

“Jesus.” He grates through his teeth.

Credence’s eyes are dark, fixed on him. When Graves draws back, the boy’s bottom lip glistens.

“Please, Sir.” He purrs once more.

Graves frames his jaw with one hand and tilts it up to expose the length of Credence’s neck. He’s rewarded with another shivered whine. Credence’s cock is jutting against the meat of Graves’s thigh; Graves’s own has been slick since he first parted the boy’s lips.

“God, such a good boy.” Graves murmurs into the flesh of his throat, “Tell me what you need.”

Credence’s hips jerk up against him, “I-I-…S-Sir, in my mouth, please…”

Graves breathes a chuckle into his skin, “And what exactly do you want in your mouth?”

There’s a sort of depraved joy to it, hearing it come out of his mouth, watching him blush every single time that Graves pries it out of him. Cheeks darkening, Credence fists his hands in the back of Graves’s shirt.

“Y-Your…your cock, Sir. Please, I-…please p-put it in my mouth.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Graves feels the boy’s nails dig into his back when Credence mewls into the back cushions of the couch.

“Yes, Sir…” He admits, and Graves watches his throat as he swallows.

“Tell me.”

Credence flushes, covers his face shakily with one hand, “O-Oh God.”

Huffing a laugh against his neck, Graves leans up to scrape his teeth over his earlobe, “Go on, sweet boy.”

“I like it.” Credence strains out, “I-I like it when you-” He takes a ragged breath, “Wh-when you…f-fuck my mouth, Sir.”

This time, Graves doesn’t both to hold back the groan that bubbles up through his chest. Instead, he shoves the boy’s shirt up and off, makes quick work of his own. There’s a slick spot on the front of Credence’s trousers, and Graves reaches up to take one of the boy’s hands, guides it down and holds it against it.

“Do you feel that?” His voice is a growl, low in his throat.

Credence is struggling for words as he pitches up into both of their hands, “Hnh! Yes, Sir.”

“My beautiful, hungry boy.”

“ _Sir!_ ”

It’s reedy, desperate, and Graves can’t hold himself back any longer. He takes the boy by the waist, lifts him as he sits up until Credence’s knees thud softly in front of the couch. Credence presses his cheek fiercely to the older man’s thigh, and Graves winds his fingers into his hair once more.

“Go on, sweet boy.” He rumbles.

Credence’s fingers fly to the front of his trousers, freeing him in a matter of moments. When he takes him into his mouth, it’s so fast and so eager that Graves bottoms out into his throat all at once. Credence struggles, chokes, but only doggedly curls his fingers and swallows, once, twice. The pressure against his prick leaves Graves cursing into his own shoulder.

“ _Fuck._ ”

Credence groans around him, and Graves can’t help but snap his hips up, impale him on himself again. The boy stammers a breath through his nose, and then Graves feels his throat open for him. Credence is watching him, one hand on his knee, squeezing, begging. Graves knots the other hand into his curls, and he swears that the boy nearly smiles around him as he begins to fuck down into him in earnest.

“Do you need to touch yourself, Credence?” He grits, thumbs stroking along the boy’s sharp cheekbones. The strangled sound that the boy makes in affirmative hums around him, and he gives a harsh groan before half-nodding, “Go on. Go on.”

He can see the muscles in Credence’s shoulder tense, the peak of his shoulder blade rising and falling. His brows are furrowed, lips dark and slick. Graves erupts within him, gushes into his throat, dragging the boy over the edge with him in a series of stifled wails. He can feel him seizing around him, rides it out until he’s spent inside him. He has to catch him by the shoulders as Credence goes limp against him, and when he pulls him up onto the couch atop himself, Credence is wet down the length of his chin. Graves pants out a chuckle and wipes it away with his thumb.

“S-…S-Sir-…” Credence gasps as his head lolls against Graves’s shoulder.

Graves wraps one hand around the nape of his neck to steady him, “Shh, shhh.”

Credence gives a meek shake of his head, “I l-…I l-love you, Sir.”

Graves blinks. The boy’s eyes are on him, exhausted but focused. Graves draws his face into the crook of his neck to rest his chin on the crown of his head. His jaw tightens.

“…You, too.” He grunts. 

Credence’s breath pours out against his skin, and in moments, he’s curled into sleep against him.

 

* * *

 

 

He can smell it, deep and choking, like burnt plastic hanging in the air, strangling. Blood is rushing in his ears. His voice struggles for purchase in his chest, scrabbles up against his insides, rakes him apart and is yet still silent. Somewhere in the distance, he can feel his nails digging crescents into his palms.

He gasps into waking, and for a moment, the air is cold and foreign within him. Credence is already sitting upright above him, eyes wide.

Graves stumbles through a groan, “Nngh, sorry, I-”

“Please, Sir.”

His brow furrows, and he glances up, narrow-eyed, at the boy, “…Hnn?”

Credence’s hands find his shoulders, and Graves grinds closer to full consciousness when he feels them begin to push down into the muscle coiled there.

“Let me.” Credence murmurs.

Graves moves to sit up, but the boy pushes back against him, “…Let you what?”

“I want-…” He’s silent for a moment, then swallows, purses his lips, “…Please let me help, Sir.”

“What? You don’t-”

“I want to.” Credence tells him.

Graves pushes out a minute chuckle, sets a hand against the boy’s cheek, but Credence’s eyes are dark. Graves feels his voice shrink, “…That’s not your job.”

“I want to, Sir.” He insists quietly.

He’s pulling on both of Graves’s hands, anchoring them at the nape of his neck and holding them there. Graves meets his eyes, mouth tight. Then, his fingers relax around the soft warmth of him.

“Credence…”

The boy presses his lips to his, gentle, only as much as it takes to blot out his protests. Graves sighs up into his mouth. Credence lets their foreheads come together, hands still wrapped around the older man’s.

“Sir.” He breathes. Slowly, he bows down into him, and his arms come to rest around Graves’s shoulders.

Graves stills.


End file.
